Harry Potter And The Case of the Deadly Mother
by cobalt-blue
Summary: Harry leaves England after Ron's suicide and his own divorce from Ginny to take a job as special investigator for the American Dept. of Arcane Law Enforcement. He slowly begins to realize just how difficult it is for fathers, both muggle and wizard when families are torn apart. Dramione implied but not nice. Hints of other fandoms. I don't do trigger warnings.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:**

 **This is a much more realistic and adult, and much less nice interpretation of the the whole Dramione pairng. It takes into account some of the things JK Rowling said about how she thought Ron and Hermione was a mistake, and how she was too smart for him. It's not a nice portrayal of Hermione nor of Ginny as it points out the inherent gynocentric attitude of our world and Rowling's world-view. This is very much a MGTOW fic.**

 **Prolog:**

 **3 Months Ago**

It was cold and windy, and Harry felt the wind whip around him like ghosts pulling at his soul. He stood, a black outline against the gray sky as he looked down at the grave stone of the best friend he'd ever had. Shaking his head, he couldn't believe it had been a year—actually a year and a day—since he'd come home to find Ron lying in a pool of his own blood, a muggle revolver in his hand.

The ministry had ruled it an accident. He'd been studying a muggle artifact that had been jinxed when it went off and killed him. Of course, that was the official story that Minister of Magic Hermione Granger, had released. _Her husband had died in the line of duty, doing what he loved._

Harry knew it was a lie. Harry knew that Ron had taken his own life after getting the divorce decree that left him homeless, childless, and totally destitute. He knew that the idea of what he'd seen on that cool June morning when he'd come home early to find his wife in bed with none other that Draco Malfoy had been forever seared into the red-headed auror's mind. He knew that somehow, Ron held himself responsible for the fact that Harry and Ginny had split up when it became clear that Harry's own ex-wife had been covering for Hermione.

He sighed again and lay the flowers he was carrying on the grave. "I'm sorry, my friend," was all he could muster to say.

"Harry..." it was a voice he had no desire to hear. "I'm sorry."

Turning he saw Hermione standing not far behind him. Two ministry bodyguards were at a discrete distance behind her.

"Minister," he said.

"Harry, I didn't want this," her voice carried no emotion.

"No," Harry replied. "I guess you didn't. I guess you consider it a bonus."

"That's unkind. I did not want Ron hurt."

"You should have thought of that before you climbed into bed with Draco Malfoy."

"It was a mistake," she said. "Ron should have never been examining that gun."

"No, your mistake was getting caught," he told her. Glancing back at the headstone, he asked, "Of course we can't have the Daily Prophet saying that the Minister of Magic drove her husband to suicide with her infidelity, can we? I guess protecting your reputation has the side effect that it protects his." He looked at her, his own voice growing cold, emotionless, "What do you want Minister?"

"I came by to pay my respects."

Harry brushed past her saying, "For what they're worth, which isn't much."

He reached halfway to the bodyguards before she caught up with him, grabbed his arm and spun him around. He was sure the slap was heard all the way to the road. "How dare you!?"

"How dare I what, Minister? How dare I see you for all the ugliness in you?"

"You will respect me!" she demanded.

Harry growled low and hot. "You destroyed your marriage, you drove your husband to commit suicide and you took up with a man who considers you beneath him." He smirked, and added, "In more ways than one. Not only did you destroy your own marriage, but mine as well. I respect the office of Minister of Magic. As for the person holding it, I have more contempt for her than I did for Fudge."

Yanking his arm free, he strode past the two bodyguards. "Potter, clear out your desk."

"Already done, Minister. I guess the paperwork hasn't reached you yet."

With that, he walked away. He walked away from the cemetery. He walked away from Godrick's Hollow, from Hogwarts, from Surrey, from the Burrow. He walked to Heathrow, and to a flight to America where a new job awaited him.

 **Currently**

"This is your new training partner, Sandor Karnstein," Coordinator Meinster introduced the dark-haired man standing across from him said. "Sandor, meet Harry Potter. He's joined us from England."

"Another one of your exchange programs, Ed?" the man asked looking at Harry and offering his hand.

"Not at all," Coordinator Meinster said. "Harry is a full on hire. He spent years working for the Ministry of Magic in Britain as an auror, and decided to move here. He just finished his ALE classes at Salem and is a full on member of Department of Arcane Law Enforcement."

"Nice to meet you," Harry shook the other man's hand. He appeared to be in his mid twenties with a head full of raven hair and piercing blue eyes. Harry detected a slight German accent to his voice, and found the handshake to be firm, if a bit on the strong side.

"My pleasure," Karnstein said. "Welcome to DALE." He stopped and said, "If memory serves, there was some kind of kerfluffle among the wand-wavers in England several years ago. There was mention of a Harry Potter then."

Harry tried to hide the look of surprise on his face. "Wand-wavers? And it was the Second Wizard's War."

Coordinator Meinster stepped in and said, "You'll have to forgive Sandor. He hasn't managed to yet scour away some old-world attitudes. _Some_ people still refer to your particular set of wizards as wand-wavers. Although technically correct, it's a bit of a non-PC term."

"My sect of wizards?" Harry asked confused.

"Those that use a focus, like a wand," Meinster said.

Karnstein looked embarrassed, "No insult was meant." Harry briefly wondered if this was how Hermione felt the first time she heard the term mud-blood. But then remembering what she'd done, he decided to be the better man and crushed the thought before saying, "None was taken. I wouldn't mind a bit more explanation, however."

"I'll tell you as you get settled in."

"Not going to have much time for that," Meinster said. "You've already got a case."

Karnstein gave their boss a hard look and said, "You're evil, Meinster."

"So my mother tells me," their boss replied. "But she loves me anyway."

Karnstein shook his head, clenched his fist and said, "If he wasn't a direct line descendant of Dracula _and_ Frankenstein, I swear I would strangle him with his own entrails." Then turning to Harry, he said, "Come on. We might as well see what fresh hell Eve has for us."

Still confused at all the changes coming at him, Harry followed the man down the hall of the old Victorian Mansion that was the headquarters of DALE. He felt as overwhelmed as he had been his first day at school. "Eve?"

"Eve Stephens. She is our liason with DALE when we're in the field. She gives us our cases and takes care of our travel arrangements. She's a primal-witch."

"Primal witch?" Harry asked.

"Wandless magic." Sandor stopped and looked at Harry. "You've never heard of the primal witches and warlocks?"

"I've heard of them," Harry said. "I thought they were a myth, something to scare young wizards and witches with."

"Oh they're real alright. Rank right up their with genies in power too, probably more so as they don't need a master. Eve's cool, though. She's a bit capricious however, so it's best to stay on her good side." He opened a large oaken door to reveal a well-lit room—using muggle electricity no less—and a massive oak table. A large glass sphere sat on the table. A young woman in her early twenties had two folders in her hand and stood at the head of the table. "Sandor, so good of you to join me." She looked at Harry and smiled before saying, "You must be Mr. Potter. Don't let this rake teach you any of his bad habits."

"Bad habits? Moi?" Sandor protested.

"The worst," the young woman said winking at Harry and offering her hand. "I'm Eve Stephens."

"Uh, it's my pleasure," he said taking the woman's hand. Again, he found it to be warm and strong, but not overly friendly. She was thin, very attractive and had a head full of blonde hair, and blue eyes. Her defining feature was her cute, slightly upturned button nose.

"What's our case, Eve?" Sandor asked sitting down as Eve handed them both a case file.

"Definite attempted murder, possible mortal murder in the past, and one hell of a family court battle in the mortal courts."

"And the DALE connection?" Sandor pressed.

"The mother tried to poison her son with aconite."

"Okay, what brings us in on it?"

"The dosage was so lethal that two of the mortal emergency medical technicians were killed by merely breathing the air in the room."

"And this is only an attempted murder?"

"Son recovered," Eve told her.

"So he's not a werewolf?"

"Not as far as we know."

"But enough aconite that would kill, a mortal (?) just walking into the room, didn't kill the boy?" Harry asked.

"You have a quick mind, Potter. I like that."

Sandor shrugged and said, "I'm unaffected by the stuff, so I sometimes forget that mortals are, or how deadly it is." Harry made a mental note to ask about the term mortal when he got Sandor alone.

"Please fill us in," Harry said.

The glass sphere in the middle of the table glowed and the image of a young man appeared. He was in his early to mid teens, about the same age as James, and had almost silver gray eyes and ash blond hair. He was definitely on the thin side, and Harry recognized the signs of being malnourished from first hand experience. "His name is Riven York, and he was a sophomore at Baldwin County High School near Mobile. Straight A student and promising quarterback."

"Quarterback?" Harry asked.

"That one you can be forgiven for not knowing," Sandor said. "American football. The player who controls the ball at the beginning of a play."

"He's not part of the wizar...uh... arcana world?"

"Evidently not," Sandor said. "We don't separate ourselves from the mortals as much as you British wizards do. And since he had no idea he was different..."

"We still don't," Eve interjected.

"I think that's understood, now," Harry said. "Nobody survives that kind of aconite poisoning."

"Well," Eve continued with a grin, "He had no idea that he was different. We don't know if his mother is arcana or not. We do know that his father is, but he wasn't in the picture until recently."

"What do you mean not in the picture?" Harry asked.

"It's in the file," Eve said. "But simply put, his father was driven from the home by the family courts. He's paid his child support diligently, and kept the boy covered in insurance. He even gave up the family home. But his mother kept using the courts to keep him away from the boy, going as far as to suggest and abusive relationship." The scenario sounded painfully familiar to his and Ron's situation. It was painful how he had not seen his children in nearly two years since the divorce. Ginny always had something else to do that weekend, and taking her to court to get his visitation meant he had to pay her legal fees.

"I understand," he said quietly.

"What's this about the murder of a mug...mortal?"

"From the interviews with the boy, we have reason to believe the mother was abusive, physically so. He said that he once tried to get help from his junior high school counselor, but the man ended up ripped to shreds in the bayous of South Alabama. The official sheriff's report said bear attack."

"And we're not so sure, now?" Harry asked.

"Exactly.

"You said the father's part of the arcanum?" Harry asked.

"He's Consilio Immortalem," Eve said.

"That's the catch-all sect?" Harry asked trying to remember his Arcana Law Enforcement classes. "Not Bloodthrone, not Witch's Council, and not Moonmoot? I never really got a grasp on what they are."

"Catch-all is as good a term as any. They're usually descended from some mythological race or species, or have powers and abilities that don't fit into any actual category. I believe he's registered as an ESPer of considerable power."

"Strange that he wasn't able to use that to affect the mortal courts," Sandor said.

"Is that allowed?" Harry asked.

"Not really, but it's not unheard of," Eve replied.

"So basically, he got creamed for playing by the rules?" Harry asked bitterly.

"Pretty much."

"So what are we to do?"

"First is to find the mother, and bring her in. She's dangerous and has killed at least two mortals," Eve said. "Secondly, and this is a matter of some delicacy, find out where the boy fits on the arcana chart."

"And if his mother is still wanting to kill him?" Sandor asked.

"You are sanctioned for lethal force in defense of the boy. But we want to find out what's going on here first." She looked at Sandor and said, "We'd rather not have too many bodies, Karnstein."

"Who me?"

"You do have a certain reputation," Eve replied.

"You wound me," Sandor told her mockingly.

"Not yet I haven't," Eve replied. Then turning to Harry, she said, "By the way, welcome aboard. I hate that you get saddled with this guy, but he's among our best. He's just not, ..."

"Politically expedient?" Sandor offered.

"I was going to say, "as polished as we would like", but that will do."

Sandor asked, "When do we leave?"

"Wheels up in two hours."

"Wheels up?" Harry asked.

"Airplane. We try to function as much inside mortal society as we can."

Harry nodded wondering exactly what he'd gotten himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

The Harvest Moon flashed silvery through the trees giving Tyler Winters a little light to pick his way through the forest north of town, his gun unloaded and the breech exposed as the law required of him an hour after sunset. With the decreased light the rich golds and yellows of the trees had faded to ash, and the carpet of leaves on the forest floor had disappeared into a low-rising fog. The going was slow, and the walk back along the creek toward the old country road where he'd parked his dad's pickup was long. He shivered against the dropping temperature despite the warm jacket he wore.

Tyler had been born and raised in Collins Cove and with the exception of a few trips across the border to Canada to fish with his cousin, and a once or twice a year trip to Bangor with his parents, he'd never been that far from home, and he was pretty happy with that idea. He liked the wild beauty of the north Maine coast. He even liked the harsh winters, and the cool summers. He liked the food. He liked the people. He liked to hunt and fish. He liked being out-of-doors, and he even enjoyed roughing it when the winters got bad.

He knew that most young sixteen year olds in his shoes would be clamoring to get out of the sticks, to some big city. Bangor or Portland at least, if not all the way out to San Francisco where there were a lot of other guys that were like him in other ways. But he was content here. He was seeing someone, maybe not openly, but they spent time together, and they explored another part of nature together, and Tyler was happy with that for now.

In the distance he heard a long deep howl that sent a shiver down his spine. At first he thought it might be a coyote. They were after all, fairly common in the area, usually going after small game like rabbit, and squirrel, sometimes a deer, or even a wounded or sick moose. But this howl was deeper, stronger, and there was a challenge to it that made Tyler's blood run cold.

Unconsciously his hand went to the loaded .45 at his side. Most hunters in in the area carried a sidearm for defensive carry purposes. At sixteen, it was technically illegal for Tyler to have it, but he felt it better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. And the game warden in the area tended to look the other way as long as it was carried in the open, and you didn't make a fool of yourself. This was after all bear season as well, and they were starting to forage heavily before their long winter sleep. Tyler preferred not to be part of the mast of the land.

Picking up his pace, he headed toward his dad's pickup while looking around. The forest had grown silent, and a palpable pall had fallen over the woods as the low fog began to rise from the ground.

Nearby, a low growl came from below a darkened embankment. A cold wind blew down Tyler's neck, and he thought he caught the scent of something dank and musty. Spinning around, a large form loped almost lazily toward him, with an uneasy gait that was part animal, part human. Tyler felt his bowels threaten to give way as he fumbled with the hammer thong for the .45 on his hip and barely got it cleared before the creature was on him.

He fired once, point blank into the slavering maw before it bore him to the ground. The report of the old Colt was like thunder in his face as his vision was suddenly blanketed by a wall of fur and muscle and claw.

Hitting the ground hard, he pulled the gun up tight against his body, pointed it away from him and fired three more times into the mass pinning him to the ground before he was able to roll free and stagger to his feet.

Some part of his mind noted that the huge beast's fur was a golden honey color and was spattered with blood and brains. Looking down at the gun still in his hands, he began to tremble and then shake. Suddenly, his stomach rebelled and he fell to his knees emptying its contents all over the ground nearby as the shadows of madness began to close in around his mind.

When the heaves became dry and cottony, he wiped his mouth and staggered to his feet toward the road, not seeing the beast's head began to stitch itself back together of its own volition. He was halfway there, still holding the Colt in one hand when he was blindsided. This time, he never saw the slow crouch of the giant wolf-like creature when it hit him from behind.

His vision exploded into a thousand lights and he tasted the humus of the cold forest just before powerful jaws closed around the back of his neck, severing his spine. Tyler Winter's last thoughts were that he should have left the woods an hour ago.

For nearly an hour, the creature feasted on the flesh of its kill. It wasn't the kill it wanted. It wasn't the kill it had come here for, but it was here, and it was fresh, and this was now. It's prey would come soon enough. For now though, it had to regain its strength. It had to learn the lay of the land. It had to plan, and it had to stalk. Its rage would not be denied. 

Harry was amazed at how seamlessly the wizarding world in America intersected with that of the muggles. Or more accurately, how the _arcana_ intersected with the _mortals_. There were still several concepts with which he was struggling, but he was catching on rather quickly. He did have an advantage over other wizards who came from Britain as he was raised by muggles... uh mortals and so wasn't quite as lost as most were. Still, it was unnerving to use airplanes instead of a floo-network, and the frequent use of automobiles was something that had him completely flustered.

"You have questions, Harry?" Sandor asked as he drove the late model Ford along the roads from Bangor toward a coastal town called Collins Cove.

"It's a lot to take in," Harry said. "I don't want to offend, but I have a lot of questions."

The dark-haired man turned to him, smiled and said, "Tell you what. Ask what you need to ask, and if you get into an area that's sensitive, I'll let you know. No offense taken."

"I appreciate that," Harry told him.

"I think that's why they put a lot of the newcomers with me. I'm willing to answer questions that others think should be common knowledge." With a smile, he added, "But no advice about women. I don't do women."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"

Sandor chuckled and said, "No. Not like that. I mean I don't date women, or men for that matter. If I've got an itch to scratch there are ways of doing it without getting into a relationship. It's easier that way. I'm not going to be any woman's ATM. And, it has the added benefit of annoying Eve."

Harry smiled wanly. "ATM?"

"Uh... machine you go to the bank to get your money from," Sandor said. "I think the mortals in Britain call them cash points. I'm not sure what the arcana call them." Then he smiled and added, "But ask your questions."

"All throughout my ALE courses, and at the headquarters you kept to referring to people without magical powers as mortals. Are the wizards and such of America immortal?"

Sandor chuckled, "There are those who think so." Then shaking his head, he continued, "But no. The primal witches, vampires, and fey are pretty damn close. There are some strains of lycanthropy that render their lifespans fairly long. It's mainly a term to, and I don't mean this as an insult, but to get away from calling them either muggles or non-maj. Mortals themselves refer to themselves as "only mortals". Since we live in a secretly blended society opposed to a secret separate society, we try to work a little harder at getting along. And the American arcana in general and DALE in particular have developed over the past fifty years or so, something they call the Stan Lee philosophy."

"Stan Lee?"

"A mortal who created Marvel Comics. He said that with great power comes great responsibility. The American arcana have embraced that idea, at least officially. They go out of their way to protect the mortals. When they don't , it's our job to step in."

"And are you mortal? You keep saying the Americans, as if it doesn't apply to you."

"I'm an American, naturalized. I'm originally from Austria. And as for being mortal, no. I'm not. I am dhampyr, the offspring of a mortal and a vampire, particularly of the Karnstein line. When I die I will come back as a vampire." Harry detected a tinge of bitterness to his voice.

"I didn't mean to pry."

"You didn't," he said.

"You definitely have a more open attitude in your acceptance of werewolves than we do. They have far more rights here than in Britain."

Sandor nodded. "It comes with that Stan Lee philosophy. It's easier to work with the non-human arcana in helping them control themselves than to spend all that energy corralling them. It doesn't always work, but it's better than trying to run roughshod over people we don't always understand."

"Sounds rather progressive."

"Don't let Ed hear you say that. Progressive is a bad word to him. He'll ask you exactly what you're progressing toward, and then use logic and facts to beat you about the head and shoulders with it. We prefer to say that it's common sense."

"That in itself is a magical power," Harry said.

Sandor laughed. "Yes, it is."

"You said Ed was a direct line descendant of both Dracula and Frankenstein?"

"That's not my story to tell, Harry," Sandor said. "He's just the closest thing we have to royalty."

"I understand."

"So, how are we going to proceed with this investigation?"

"Talk to the boy and his father first," Sandor said. "After that, we go over the security measures the father has taken on the boy, and then we go looking for the mother."

"Why do I get the feeling that the mother is going to come to us before we find her?" Harry asked.

"Cynical huh? Smart man."

Harry spent the next hour or so in quiet contemplation considering what his partner had told him. It was a lot to consider, and he realized his new partner was going to be far helpful to him getting acclimated than he got when he went to Hogwarts.


	3. Chapter 3

The town of Collin's Cove turned out to be something out of pure Americana. The white clapboard buildings with their perfect front gardens, white picket fences and well trimmed trees lining the streets seemed to have been lifted from a painting, complete with the fiery foliage of Autumn as a backdrop. The smell of salt air permeated the air as Harry could hear the peal of a buoy clanging in the distance as the tide ebbed and flowed through the neatly maintained harbor as he exited the black car. They'd parked in front of a small steep-roofed building with a sign outside that read: COLLINS COVE CONSTABULATORY. John Stilinski Chief Constable.

"Why are we stopping here?" Harry asked.

"Professional courtesy," Sandor replied. "File said that Stilinski is aware of DALE and of the arcana. Besides I want to get his impression of Doctor York."

"You suspect the father?"

"Not really," Sandor said. "But it's best to cover all our bases. It wouldn't be the first time that one parent tried to use their kid to hurt the nother." Opening the glass door, he bade Harry to enter first.

Harry nodded remembering the difficulties he had had with the British Ministry of Family Services with his divorce, and how Ginny had used them to keep Harry from visiting his children. He was impressed with Karnstein's professionalism. He wasn't taking anything for granted. That was good auror, or n this case, police work. In a way it was in sharp contrast with the Ministry of Magic's way of doing things which tended to run roughshod over the individuals they were investigating. "Makes sense."

The lobby of the constabulary was basically a small cheaply paneled hall with a couple of old plastic chairs under a window that faced a low counter covered with the same cheap paneling. On the other side of the counter, an older woman wearing a police uniform was typing something into a computer. "How can I help you gentlemen?" she asked without looking up.

Sandor pulled out his ID and said, "I'm Special Agent Sandor Karnstein and this is my partner, Harry Potter. Is Chief Constable Stilinski available?"

"Special agent?" the woman gave him an appraising look. "Wouldn't happen to be with that Gibbs fellow down at NCIS would you?"

"No ma'am," Sandor said. "We're with DHS."

"Oh well," she said, the disappointment in her voice clear. "Chief Stilinski and the coroner are down at the morgue."

"Where would that be?" Harry asked.

She smiled seeming to notice Harry for the first time. "Down at the end of the street in the jail. You can't miss it. It's a gray concrete building with the words, 'City Jail' on the front of it."

"Thank you," Harry said as Sandor had already turned to leave the building.

"You're welcome," she said picking up the phone. "I'll call him and tell him you're coming."

"Thanks," Harry told her with a soft smile.

Sandor was stopped outside on the walkway and looking in the direction the receptionist had indicated. "Notice anything?" he asked.

Harry followed his gaze toward a low squat building with no personality whatsoever. It was a mass of gray standing in sharp contrast to the local charm of the other buildings in the town. "Doesn't fit the local architecture."

Sandor chuckled and said, "Look closely at the building."

Harry squinted against the Autumnal sun and shook his head. "I don't see much of anything else."

"That building is reinforced. I'd say that you or I would have trouble blasting our way out of it. What would a charming little town with less than seven thousand souls in it on the New England coast need with a supermax jail?"

"I wouldn't know," Harry said shuddering while remembering where his own people housed criminals.

"Let's go find out."

This time, the lobby was much more modern with ballistic glass shielding the officer behind it. The walls were solid concrete and painted in soft neutral colors. Harry noticed designs in the molding along the top and floors. He recognized several bind runes carved into both the crown molding and the baseboards. This building was constructed by people who understood how to contain wizards, vampires, werewolves, and as best he could tell, just about anything else that was preternatural. More interestingly, they seemed to be able to do it without sucking all joy from those in the process.

"We would like to see Chief Stilinski, please," Sandor said holding up his ID.

The man behind the glass nodded and said, "Have to confirm your identity."

"Go right ahead,"

The man began typing on a computer, and again, Harry wondered about the integration of both magic and technology into the American wizarding world. After several moments of navigating through the screens he seemed to get the answer he wanted. "All weapons must be checked at the front desk."

Much to Harry's surprise, Sandor removed first a large handgun from his belt, and then a smaller one from a holster at his ankle, and slid them into the slot provided. He promptly received a receipt. Looking over at Harry, he said, "I'm afraid that's going to include your wand too."

"You seem familiar with this situation," Harry said as he reluctantly pulled his wand from the small pocket in his sleeve and slid it into the slot. He too received a ticket.

"I am. It's fairly standard for holding facilities that know about us."

The large steel door in front of them buzzed and then opened to allow them entrance. A constable was waiting on the other side of the door. "I'll take you to the Chief and Doctor York."

"Doctor York?" Harry asked.

"He's our coroner," the young man said with a frown. "Usually, we don't have much of a call for his services as such, but there was an incident last night."

"Incident?" Sandor asked.

"Officially we're saying it was a bear attack so as not to spook the mundane population."

"What was it?" Harry asked.

"We think a werewolf," the constable said. "Got officers out now checking with all the girls."

"Girls?" Sandor asked.

"Yeah, our local werewolf pack."

"You have a werewolf pack running around?" Harry asked surprised.

"Local high school girls," the constable said. "They lost their pack alpha about a year ago, and they haven't found a new one yet. Problem is that they were all accounted for."

"How?" Sandor asked.

"At the request of the parents, until they find a new alpha, they get locked up here three nights a month. Every pack member we know about was here. Tracks though suggest an alpha that did the deed. Going to get messy here before it gets better."

"Must be a different kind of werewolf than I'm accustomed," Harry said.

"You English?" the constable asked.

"Is that a problem?" Harry asked.

"No. Just checking. That would explain the confusion. Our girls were infected by a woman named Hale from Beacon Hills California."

Harry nodded. He remembered a nasty little case he and Ron had dealt with a couple of years ago. A werewolf like none they'd encountered before took out several of Fenrir Greyback's surviving pack in what turned into a running battle all over the city. Whittemore was his name, and he'd been from Beacon Hills, California. Being as he had actually done the ministry a good turn by taking out a violent pack of werewolves, but because of the wizarding world's views on lycanthropes, it had fallen to Harry and Ron to find an acceptable resolution to the situation. Much to Hermione's displeasure, they'd finally escorted him out of the country, to Paris of all places. "I think I've met one from that blood line."

The constable nodded and said, "Then you understand about alphas and betas."

"Actually, no," Harry said. "He was killing other werewolves so we didn't look at it too deeply."

"Oh dear," the constable said. "You could have a problem, then."

"What about these girls?" Sandor asked.

"Just a group of half a dozen girls infected by an alpha that came to town about a decade ago. Never gave us much trouble as they were all betas, and the Hale girl kept them in line. We have one hell of a girl's basketball and field hockey team, but beyond that, not a lot of trouble. When Hale disappeared and got presumably got herself killed a few years ago, the parents approached us about keeping the girls locked up on the nights of the full moon to help them maintain control."

"And last night's attack?"

"A young hunter," the constable said. He stopped at a door with the word 'MORGUE' on it. "I thought that was why you were here."

"It can be, but not initially," Sandor said.

"Just hope you can help. We're in over our heads here. Never had much of a problem with the pack in the past." He indicated the door and said, "Chief and Doc York are in here."

"Thanks," Harry told the man as he and Sandor entered the room.

The first thing Harry noted about the brightly lit room was the smell of antiseptics and a acrid odor of disinfectants. The constable turned out to be an average size African American man in his mid to late fifties and a slight paunch. Next him was standing the much younger form of Doctor York. He was dressed in a nice dark jumper, jeans and a white lab coat. Behind them was a high metal table with a sheet-covered form.

"Chief Stilinski, I'm Special Agent Karnstein, and this is Special Agent Potter. We're from DALE."

"The older black man smiled and said, "I take it you're here about our werewolf attack." He shook his head and added. "You boys work fast."

Sandor and Harry exchanged glances, and much to Harry's surprise, Sandor said, "Actually, we're here on another case, but we'll be glad to help out."

"Another case?" Doctor York asked.

"Your ex-wife, Doctor York. Your ex-wife."

"Please tell me you've caught her." Harry hated to dash the hope he heard in the man's voice.

"Not yet, Doctor York. But we hope to soon," Sandor said. Then looking at the covered body, he said, "We'd like to ask you and your son some questions, but we're more than willing to lend a hand here. A werewolf you say?"

"Definitely an alpha," Stiliniski replied casting a questioning look over at the doctor.

"How are you sure?" Harry asked.

"Betas and omegas don't usually gain a lot of mass. The footprints we photographed at both attack sites were huge, and sunk deep into the soil. Although we've had a pretty wet Fall, the last few days have been dry so the we're estimating at least four hundred pounds."

"That's about average for most of the werewolves I've encountered," Harry said.

"Just how many alpha's have you encountered, Agent Potter?" Stilinski asked.

"Several actually. I have, uh... had a friend who was a werewolf." Harry looked down and added, "He didn't survive the last wizarding war in England. Also my team and I dealt with a werewolf from Beacon Hills, California who came to London and started taking the local werewolves apart. This one actually had a venomous bite. Paralyzed the nervous system for a while."

Stilinski and York looked at each other and then back to Harry before Stilinski said, "My half-brother is the sheriff in Beacon Hills, California. The wolf you just described was Jackson Whittemore?"

"You've heard of him?"

"From my nephew," Stilinski said. "He's a real jackass."

"I would say your nephew is a good judge of character," Harry replied. "But how is that germane to this case? Are you telling me that every werewolf I've encountered thus far has been an alpha?"

"Either an alpha or from a strain not generally known in the US. There are several you know."

Harry shook his head and said, "No. I didn't."

"Just how long have you been working for DALE?"

"Special Agent Potter has come to us from England, from the Ministry of Magic's Department of Aurors," Sandor interjected.

Stilinksi nodded and said, "I understand, I think."

"In the strain we're discussing, there are three classifications of werewolves. Alphas can gain mass, command a pack, and take on a full slavering wolf-like form, and who are the only ones who can make another werewolf. Betas are the wolves that they make or are born as werewolves not already an alpha. They make up the pack and look like hairy misshapen humans with claws, fangs, and extra fur. They're also much stronger than a normal human."

"And Omegas?" Harry asked.

"Betas without a pack. They slowly go insane, are uncontrollable and are usually the most likely to kill humans."

"And all the werewolves in town are betas and females?" Harry asked.

"Problem with this particular strain of werewolves is that female alphas are rare, and those that are psychologically stable are even rarer still."

"And the wolf that attacked your hunter was an alpha?" Sandor asked.

"Or could it have come from another strain, maybe the one Harry knows?"

"Anything is possible, Agent Karnstein. But we're working from what we know here."

"Understandable," Harry said. "How can we help?"

"Well, Doc here just finished his autopsy. Tell 'em what you found."

"Besides the fact that some of the blood on the body is not the victims and is female?" Sandor asked.

Doing a double-take Doctor York asked, "How did you know?"

"Because I can smell it."

"I can't smell anything but the disinfectant," Harry protested.

"You aren't like me," Karnstein replied. "I can smell a blood type from across the room. Some of the blood on that boy is female."

"Makes sense. We found two attack sites. One where we found the body, and another where we think there was an initial encounter. It shows signs of a fight there, and several spent forty-five shells on the ground. Furthermore the area tested for GSR."

"GSR?" Harry asked.

"Gun shot residue," Sandor said. "And the boy?"

He was covered in it. He pulled the trigger several times with the werewolf at point blank range. We think he shot the wolf when it first attacked him and managed to escape. But he probably was unaware of the regenerative properties of lycanthropes, he ran away—after losing his supper all over the ground, I might add—only to be hit from behind about a mile closer to his truck."

"What else can you tell us about the blood?" Karnstein asked as he walked over to the body and sniffed at the outer sheet."

"Not a lot, yet," York replied. "Test results haven't come back yet."

"Definitely female and entering the fertile part of her estrus cycle," Karnstein told them.

"You're good," Stilinski said.

"It comes from years of practice," Sandor replied. "Like I said, we're glad to help."

"When can we have a few moments of your time to discuss your ex-wife?" Harry pressed.

"Just as soon as I get cleaned up. If you want, we can go over to my house from here.


End file.
